


in a mirror, exasperatingly

by GollumPanties



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, i guess you could call it shippy if you squint, lapselock, twitfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GollumPanties/pseuds/GollumPanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"a demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they're useful messages. like 'remember you have yoga at 6 tonight.'"</p><p>crowley prefers traditional methods of communication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a mirror, exasperatingly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultramarinus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultramarinus/gifts).



although a technically incorporeal being with a physical form that can change appearance on a whim, sometimes aziraphale gets it into his head to shave.  
it's one of those nice, solid human rituals that breaks the constant flow of time into nice, solid days, and after several millennia on earth he's become rather fond of the countless ways that humans have found to take the sweeping expanse of the cosmos, the paralyzing vastness of the ages, and chop it up into bite-size pieces. 

also, he likes the smell of aftershave.

crowley thinks this is hilarious. never one to miss an opportunity to tease aziraphale about how he's "gone native"*, the demon finds constant ways to make his smirking presence known whenever aziraphale picks up a razor.

*aziraphale thinks that's rather rich coming from a demon who's been known to coax the bentley down alleyways that physics would normally not allow, just to slip past traffic jams in time to reach his dinner reservation on time. 

"that's different," crowley always handwaves. "even the eternal wedding feast could never produce shrimp scampi like this."

 

today he's just about to start on the tricky patch just near his left ear when the surface of his mirror abruptly starts to leak.

"try not to snap at the customers when you hear the door today, angel," it reads in dripping, red blood.

aziraphale sighs, sets down the straight razor, and dials a number on the phone that has conveniently appeared in his hand.

"every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings," says the voice on the other end. "in this case a door bell, but still."

"don't be twee, my dear. it makes you even more frightening than usual." aziraphale sighs. "couldn't you just phone me up like a normal person?"

"that would require me to _be_ a normal person," says crowley. his voice practically oozes sloth and indulgence, and aziraphale knows he won't be out of bed for hours yet.

he wedges the phone under his chin before reaching for a towel to clean the mirror. "is there a reason you decided to turn my bathroom into a horror film," he asks, "or were you just bored?"

crowley chuckles darkly, but crowley does everything darkly so it doesn't mean much. "actually," he says, "i thought you might like to come thwart some wiles in the park this evening. the rain won't be here until tomorrow, and if left unsupervised i might spoil all the relish in the hot dog stand."

"that's witches," aziraphale murmurs, clearing the last _el_ off the glass.

"what?"

"it's witches who spoil produce, i think."

"is it? i can never remember these things. this is why you'd better come along."

aziraphale bites the inside of his lip thoughtfully. "i don't know," he says, "i've got several new books in recently that still need to be catalogued."

"i've already picked up that pastry you like."

crowley is a master tempter, aziraphale is convinced. he can feel his resolve crumbling by the second, books be d- blessed.

"well," he finally concedes, "i might be free around five or so."

"great," says crowley, "it's a date. seriously, try not to scare everyone who mistakenly wanders into your bookshop looking to buy a book."

he hangs up then, and aziraphale, mirror now clean once more, re-lathers his face to finish shaving.

 

and twee or not, when he catches himself laughing under his breath at the sound of the door bell later on, he finds that crowley's message really _does_ keep him from terrorizing would-be customers.  
(at least, not too much.)

**Author's Note:**

> i know you really wanted arthur/eames, but this is the best i could do. ;)
> 
> i hope the formatting looks alright, but footnotes are always hard to do without actual pages.


End file.
